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Story: Fire From the Sky
''Fire From the Sky ''is a short story about the Elf, Norlar, as he discovers that his world is not what he had been led to believe when a cargo jet suddenly crashes near his hometown in the Kingdom of Tralar. Story Nolar awoke to a cool ray of light streaming through the window above him. He grunted, sitting up in his bed and felt the old rickety wood creak underneath him before he stood to his feet. He rolled up his woolen blanket, tucking it to the edge of his sleeping area before he fumbled for the piece of iron and flint by his bedside, striking the iron rod against the flint to create sparks. The lantern hanging from the ceiling flickered to light, casting an orange glow around his quarters. Norlar murmured to himself. He opened the windows, allowing fresh air to flow into his dwelling. The sun was beginning to cast its brilliance over the land. Outside, the Kingdom of Tralar’s towering green mountain peaks and the sea of towering pointed roofs of his village stood proudly before him. Alerius, the capital of the magnificent land, stretched out before him. The town and its surrounding dwellings stretched into the shape of a crescent, nestled in the mountain valley at the foot of a towering hill upon which the stone towers of the Elders’ residence sat brooding over the village. The azure sky stretched up for far as his eyes could see above it, and the mountains formed a natural barrier guarding them, while rivers of fresh water gushed down from their snowy peaks to provide drink, and turning their waterwheels to churn grain and pump the blacksmiths’ bellows. Norlar stepped down the stairs. Grabbing his bow and arrow from the fireplace, he pulled on his boots and buckled their clasps, before opening the door. Chilly wind rushed towards his face as he stepped into the early morning air and onto the streets. He bundled his sheepskin cloak closer to him for warmth, wishing that he could remain in bed for a little while longer as he gazed at the flickering oil lamps behind the windows he passed. He walked through the town center where the fountain stood at its heart, the stone statues of his Elven brothers standing proudly upon rock from where water gushed from underneath their feet. They were the Warriors of Tralar, the noble four that had defended their Kingdom from barbarian invaders long ago, defeating them once and for all and securing peace through the land. The stood proudly atop the fountains, their swords driven into the ground and their hands resting atop the pommels. The armor they wore, though elegant and sleek with intricate runes carved in, did not look fragile or slight, instead emboldening their chests and posture to make them look more fierce. Tralar was a peaceful Kingdom, but even gentle Elves must defend themselves, and when called upon to do so, they were the fiercest beings in the realm. Nolar bowed before them, paying his respects as he did every morning, as their sacrifice had allowed Alerius to prosper: though the rest of the world had fallen into the aybss of eternal darkness, the Kingdom of Tralar remained. The wisdom of the Warriors and Elders had prevented their land, and theirs alone, from being overtaken by the Blackness in the end times. They were provided with everything they could ever need, save for trade with the other kingdoms that had succumbed and were consumed. He walked along the dirt road to the stables. Haflar was waiting for him, tending to the animals and dumping buckets of water into their drinking trough. The other Elf looked toward him. “Morning to you. Are you ready to head out for the hunt?” “As I am always when the sun rises,” Nolar said, mounting himself upon the horse that Haflar had prepared for him. “I will bring more tonight. The weather is more favorable today.” “You had better,” Haflar replied. His face grew stern. “You of course understand that even though we are friends, I have all of these animals to care for. Northern Star has a tendency to eat my food stores dry. Coin does not drop into my hands as much as dung does.” “I assure you, whatever money I fetch from this next outing will be more than enough to cover your costs,” Norlar replied, carressing his steed’s mane. “And I doubt that he eats more than the others.” “He does. I think he takes after his master.” “How witty you are,” Norlar said dryly, lifting his cloaked hood from his shoulders and placing it atop his tapered ears. He seated himself firmly in the saddle, and flicked the reins. The white horse rose up on its hind legs, letting out a thunderous whinny. Haflar gazed after Norlar as he galloped off into the distance. Nolar rode off towards the mountains as the sun climbed up to its highest point in the sky. Northern Star’s black hooves pounded against the ground, shaking the blades of grass sprouting on the sides of the roads that snaked through Alerius. He felt the wind rush through his long, silky hair, his own mane of black billowing behind him. He rode over the cobble-stoned bridge and up the sloped hills upon which the outer districts of the villages brooded, looking out towards the sea of shingles and moss-encrusted stone towers. “Onward, Northern Star. Onward!” He thundered through the rolling green hills. Northern Star breathed steadily underneath him. He grinned, a sense of ecstasy washing over him as he felt his own heart pulse, adrenaline from the rush of speed entering the forests of the mountain coursing through his veins. Chickens and goats scampered out of the way, screeching and braying indignantly as Northern Star sent the herd scattering. Irate yelling burst forth from the hut atop the hill as the farmer planted a hand on his windowsill and wildly brandished his sickle with the other. “You careless oaf!” He squawked, much like one of the chickens. But Norlar was too fast, and had already vanished into the thick green forest. He laughed, for he lived for the freedom of nature. Though there was little left of the once-gargantuan kingdom to explore, venturing beyond the confines of Alerius’s walls each day was enough to saite his appetite for escaping the limits of the village. He brought his white horse to a gentle stop, and dismounted, sliding off his side. His leather boots crunched twigs in the undergrowth as they landed onto damp soil. The smell of tree sap and the chitters of furred beasts scampering among the trees reached him. He reached his arm behind, and gracefully swung the bow his back and into his arm. Holding it aloft, he ventured forward toward the mountaintop that loomed above him. He would hunt, but not until he had observed the kingdom from its peak and taken in the sight of the kingdom from atop its towering face that jutted out over Alerius. He began to climb the rocky, steep formations that piled atop each other to form the jagged precipice of rock that jutted out into the sky. Northern Star whinnied, as if indignant that he would do something so treacherous, stamping his hoof against the dirt as if to remind him that his duties awaited him. Haflar would just have to be patient, for life was too short to spend its entirety avoiding the pleasures that made it worth living. Nolar ascended to the top of the mountain. He looked over the village that sprawled out in a crescent, its edges stretching the valley beneath him The mills churned as they were pushed by the forces of nature, the cloth-covered arms whooshing as they cut through the air and the slimy alage-coated waterwheels lapped at the waters of the streams that followed beneath them. He felt the wind across his face and smiled. He outstretched his arms and allowed the sun to warm his back. Then a terrible shriek filled the sky. From above the clouds dived toward him an equally terrible beast. It was not a dragon, but despite having some features of a large bird, it was just as large and even more terrifying. Its ugly bulbous head protruded from underneath outstretched gray wings. Its head possessed no mouth, but underneath its wings were ugly, razor sharp teeth in no less than four gaping mouths, whirling and churning hungrily. Its claws extended, protruding from the underside of its head and its belly, outstretched grubby, leathery-looking nubs reaching towards him. Nolar immediately lifted his bow and let the arrowhead fly free. The quarrel flew true towards the beast, and then promptly bounced off its hide. Seeing that he was no match, the elf immediately threw himself to the ground, choking as he inhaled dirt. The beast swooped past him and climbed above the mountain peak before dipping downwards again. Norlar heaved himself to his feet, coughing and drawing another arrow from his quiver. As he squeezed an eye shut and aimed, he paused and lowered his bow at what he saw. The beast was wounded. But it was no wound of a living creature, or even one caused by magic. Thick, inky, charcoal smoke, like the smoke that poured from Rindrol’s blacksmith workshop, streamed from raging flames that billowed out from underneath its wings, from the same ‘growths’ that protruded underneath them and on which those whirling mouths gasped for air. The beast’s tail thrashed, the two fins that protruded out of its body seeming to twitch. He stared at the creature, seeing markings across its body that not of an Elven tongue. But no prophecy foretold a return. It was impossible… the warriors had won victory once and for all! He grabbed his bow tightly and began to run. A mighty tremor shook the ground, as the beast buried itself in the soil of the valley with a resounding boom, and came to rest. Fire licked at pieces of its body left in its wake. TEN MINUTES EARLIER “Mayday, mayday.. Oslo ATC, mayday. This is Royal Air Force Colt-Tree-Two-Niner. We have lost thrust and are losing altitude. Unknown, catastrophic mechanical failure. Please advise.” “Oslo ATC. Okay, C-3-2-9. Can you please identify your aircraft and the engines lost.” “We are a Boeing C-17 Globemaster III. We have lost both starboard engines and inboard port engine unresponsive to FBW. Altitude 15,000 feet and dropping.” Category:Stories